.@##t ##§##«» iji^n 



> fulfil 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



Chap. Copyright No. 

md 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



Pictoris Carmina 



T'o a Lunette 

'Sweeter to ga/e and idly dream than toil" 

See Page 70 



PICTORIS CARMINA 



v^ 



BY 



FREDERIC CROWNINSHIELD 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE AUTHOR 




NEW YORK 

DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 



IHOO 



Copyright^ igoo^ by 
DoDD, Mead £f Company 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 



51591 



LjovMiy ot Oortv<*<!! 



SEP 25 1900 

Copyright •otry 

SECO^^O COPY. 

0«-.i<v«i^ to 

OHOt« DIVISION, 

^QT 1 8 I9Q0 






UNIVERSITY PRESS - JOHN WILSON 
AND SON . CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A. 



CONTENTS 

SONNETS 

Page 

Prologue 3 

The Tonic 4 

O Artist, speak ! 5 

The Reason 6 

After the Play 7 

December 8 

To MY Muse 9 

Decadence 10 

National Art 11 

The Silent Wheel 12 

Et in Arcadia Ego 13 

Morning Hopes 14 

The Frame 15 

The Setting , 16 

The Preface 17 

To Themis 18 

Sunday Vespers at S 19 



Page 

Days of Illness 20 

Valuations 21 

Reflections 22 

Degrees of Charm — I 23 

Degrees of Charm — II 24 

Two Windows 25 

Brothers of the West. 26 

The " Empire " 27 

A " Della Robbia " 28 

CONVICTIONLESS 1 29 

CONVICTIONLESS II 3O 

To Science 31 

Not in Vain 32 

Wheat from Chaff 33 

Did we but dare ! 34 

Michelangelo — Milton . 35 

To A Portrait (New England Victrix) .... 36 

Double Hollyhocks 37 

The Remedy 38 



Page 

In Hot Weather — I 39 

In Hot Weather — II 4° 

Giovanni — I 4^ 

Giovanni — II 4^ 

Unnatural Selection 43 

" Competitions " in Art 44 

Illuminate, O Lord ! 45 

Veiled River 4^ 

Evening at Stockbridge 47 

Requiescam 48 

Clouds 49 

Italian Sketches — 

I — Lunghezza 5^ 

II — S. Sabina 5^ 

HI — The Olive 52 

IV — Reaction 53 

V — Pompeii 54 

VI — Villa Conti, Frascati 55 

VII — San Gimignano 5^ 



Vll 



Page 
Italian Sketches — Continued 

VIII — On the Sacred Way, Rome 57 

IX — Roman Campagna 58 

X — To a Fountain 59 

XI — Epilogue 60 

Grazie, Amico ! 61 

"Make Hay" 62 

The Stronger Sex 63 

Waiting 64 

Mountain-laurel — I 65 

Mountain-laurel — II . 66 

Gall 67 

Drawings from Life 68 

Dissolution 69 

To A Lunette 70 

To AN Engraving 71 

A Prayer to the State 72 

To Merchant Princes — I 73 

To Merchant Princes — II 74 



Vlll 



Page 

A Vision 75 

Confidants 76 

Swift Moods 77 

Spenser 78 

Clear Skies 79 

Eventually 80 

To AN Old Model 81 

Fruit Invisible 82 

A Cult 83 

To A Memorial Window — I 84 

To A Memorial Window — II 85 

The Permanence of Art 86 

Falling Leaves 87 

Backgrounds 88 

Intricacy 89 

O Night ! 90 

An October Sketch 91 

Green Age 92 

Take not her Name in Vain 93 



IX 



Page 

Late October 94 

Success ! 95 

To Winged Eros 96 

Midwinter 97 

To Boreas 98 

Enthusiasm without Delusion 99 

Christmas-time 100 

To England 10 1 

The Recompense 102 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

Quelle Betise 105 

A Song of the Garden 106 

A Song of the River 108 

A Song of the Sea no 

To Galenus 112 

The Choice 117 

Consecrated Flowers 119 



Page 

A Contrast 120 

In Autumn 121 

Hereafter 121 

A Thought 121 

Michelangelo 122 

To A Landscape 123 

Threnody 125 

Adieu . , . . , 129 



ILLUSTRATIONS 



Page 

To A Lunette Frontispiece •y 

" Sweeter to gaze and idly dream than toil " 

To A Portrait (New England Victrix) ... 12 

<< Against a background cool of solemn green" 

Giovanni 24 = 

" Sun-tempered peasant from Abruzzi's peaks'" 

The Olive 36 

*' Naught is more lovely than the olive-tree" 

Pompeii 46 - 

<< On many a morn athwart the slanting rays " 

Villa Conti, Frascati 60 ^ 

<< Cool villa Conti, thou hast been to me" 

To A Fountain 82^ 

" I know twin fountain-jets that tireless fling" 

Draw^ings from Life 112 

" These drawings from the quick in black, or red" 



xm 



SONNETS 



" Quelle plume enviable que celle de ces peintres^ quand r occa- 
sion s'offre a eux de quitter la palette pour I ^encrier et de jeter un 
cri du coeur ! " Gazette des Beaux-Arts, Bernard Prost. 

Such words give needed heart to lay aside 
The wonted tools, and take the stranger pen. 
And sing acceptably to lettered men 
Of things one cannot limn, nor yet would hide. 

Perchance the tropes of him who doth abide 
In bond to Nature and adore, or when 
She clouds and frets, or smiles and shines again, 
May wreathe his simple thoughts with comely pride. 

And these sincerities, that have their root 

In raptured vision which mere speech transcends, 
May find their analogues in stately throng 

Of winged bards. Yet some one might impute 
A freshness to them. But if not ? — His friends 
Will know him better from his candid song. 



THE TONIC 

From time to time for health of soul 'tis well 
To live with Nature hermit-wise and drink 
From stainless source ; to diagnose, nor shrink 
From cold dissection in a lofty cell 

Whence we relentless look on those who dwell 
In herds, blind for the dusty pack, nor blink 
The trending ultimate of men who think 
That they have found a Heaven in very Hell. 

Yes, it is wholesome now and then to steel 
The moral sense — to wrestle not with man 
'Fore man — but on some scabrous mountain peak 

Among the clouds, to tune of thunder-peal. 
To wrestle with one's self before great Pan : 
And thus phylactered, men again to seek. 



• O ARTIST, SPEAK! 

O Artist, speak thy genuine thoughts unawed 
By habits' lack. Whatever thou hast to say 
Thy better reason's habit will betray 
Which operates on life, and hath ignored 

Ephemeral catch-words sheep-like men applaud. 
Thou hast conciseness' gift ; thou dost obey 
Proportion's laws ; thou dost not pad for pay, 
Since thou hast soul with vetoing beauties stored. 

When thou art ravished by some fairy scene 

And wouldst with transport other hearts subject. 
Concentrate thou dost seek the thrilling clue 

And note it with insistence ; nor dost screen 
The primal v/ith uneloquent effect 
That lessens it. Thou speakest clear and true. 



THE REASON 

I LOVE my lady for her beauteous face, 
And flaunt the blazon of her bonny mien, 
Then vauntingly proclaim her soul, unseen 
Till I am shackled by her bonds of grace. 

Sweet Nature's face I love — the clouds that race 
From ridge to ridge, full-viewed by autumn's Queen 
Waving her golden rods in scarlet sheen ! 
Nor seek I reason ethical. I trace 

The silhouette of some fair monument 

Entranced. I love its face for symmetry ; 
For ratio pure of mass to residue 

Of void ; for decoration pertinent. 

And yet some sage, in self-sufficiency. 
Will say 'tis beautiful because 'tis true. 



AFTER THE PLAY 

A SOMBRE piece, recalling harrowing days. 
Aye years, of cruel fratricidal strife 
That had for proem throbbing drum and fife. 
And brass dementing, braided gold, and maze 

Embayonetted of youth's flower, and craze 
Of girls hand-clapping the parade of life 
Deemed charmed 'gainst scath. Alas, young loving 

wife. 
What change did bring thee that infernal blaze 

From actuality — that gaudless play 

In sickening acts — the powder-grime — the steel — 
The lead of triple shriek, that strident tears 

A cry unwilled from lips fast turning gray, 

And thine own piercing scream, dear Heart and leal. 
Whom adamantine Death unpitying spares ! 



DECEMBER 

Ah, one by one my faiths the fairest fall. 
Which I had deemed inwoven in the woof 
And warp of souls commercing 'neath the roof 
Of friendship — where we give our mutual all 

Confidingly ; where franknesses do call 
For reciprocity ; wherein no proof 
Is claimed, since from the Lie we hold aloof. 
And by the Truth its right of life forestall. 

So fall the autumn's gauds before the gale 
That ramps from out the arctic skies of flint 
And bares the sterling skeleton of things. 

I love it not ; yet would I feel its pale 
Cold breath, and see in icy eye the glint 
Of Verity, and hear its candid wings. 



TO MY MUSE 

Sweep me, O shining clouds, oh sweep me swift 
Above the topmost passion's burning peak 
To my imperial Love. For I am weak 
With unattained desire, nor have I gift 

Serene of Hope, nor can I plod with drift 
Of commoners who would laborious seek 
Her up the crags of Art, and 'fore her speak 
The never spoken word. O, clouds, uplift 

Me kindly on your fleet, resplendent wings. 
Swifter and whiter than the god-like bull 
That rapt Europa to enraptured meet. 

Lift me to where she stands, the offerings 
Of Genius on her brow. Lift me on full 
Illumined forms, that I may kiss her feet ! 



DECADENCE 

When fields are green with aftermath of Fall, 
When trees parade in rich vermilioned dress. 
Wan exhalations from the vales possess 
The full, ripe forms of Earth, and cast a pall 

Impalliding o'er mellow hues. Withal 

Not charmless — but the charm that doth impress 
Pale fever on some deep-eyed shepherdess 
Near Rome, who croons her morbid madrigal. 

Yet when the waxing sun with lusty rays 
Burns into nothingness the vapors white. 
And bares the splendent view of mount and lea. 

Then gladsome Nature chants his ringing praise. 
O, Life, consume the pale malarious blight 
That hangs o*er Art, and give us Sanity ! 



lO 



NATIONAL ART 

Welcome the foreign aptitudes that reap 

Us honor, westward borne on ravening prows 
White-toothed and fleet, that ever sateless rouse 
The undulations of the glaucous deep ! 

Welcome the alien blood that aye may keep 
By fresh infusion Life upon thy brows, 
O Art Compatriot, my mystic Spouse, 
And guard thee from content's anaemic sleep I 

Yet see to it thou dost not rash exceed 
Precision to inoculate, or ape 
Thy benefactors. Elsewise wilt thou lag 

Behind the shining throng, nor hope to lead. 

Nor e'en stand peer. If foremost ^ — thou must 

drape 
Thyself in starry folds, thy country's flag. 



II 



THE SILENT WHEEL 

O'er all, dull browns, wan umbers, and decay ! 
Embrowned the serrate outline of the drear 
Escarped heights that leap abrupt from mere. 
Entangled with the umbered husks which sway 

Their sapless tufts, not long ago so gay 

And confident. Embrowned the selvage sere 

Of road — fair-trimmed with flowers when the year 

Was full — on which I take my sober way. 

Then flashes past me on the silent wheel 
The radiance from a vivid, dazzling red — 
A jaunty habit worn by jaunty maid — 

Like scarlet poppies that unwelcome steal 

Among the ripening stalks. Now umbers shed 
A glory, and my mien no more is staid ! 



12 



To a Portrait. {New England Victrix) 

"Against a background cool of solemn green" 

See Page 36 



ET IN ARCADIA EGO 

Ten thousand poets hymn the glories white 
And rose of May, and myriad artists limn 
The gala boughs of fruiting trees and film 
Of fresh-born green on rusty earth, where blight 

Of frost has lain. The iterated sight 

Is ever new. Conditions shift with whim 

Of sun, or the elusive mood of him 

Who e'en mean things exalts with fancies dight. 

To-day no carnival of pink and blue. 
The petal gleaming on a lambent sky. 
Dark tell the fragrant blossoms 'gainst the sad 

Sea-nurtured clouds, while at my feet the hue 
Of purple pensees tunes my thoughts to sigh 
Of southern airs. And yet the thrush sings glad ! 



13 



MORNING HOPES 

Could but the dew of silver-tinted morn, 
Agleam with nascent light from orient sky. 
Retain its sparkle fresh when noon is high, 
And till the flaming orb, of radiance shorn. 

Gives place to night ! Could but our hopes new-born 
Hold true, and brave the beams reality- 
Emits, and dusky-winged grief belie. 
Thus making day a never-ending dawn ! 

Would not our fickle fate — in turn betrayed 
By feather-footed joy, and pain more slow — 
Exalted be in perpetuity ? 

Yet to enhance the light there should be shade, 
Yet to enjoy the sweet, we should taste woe. 
And to attain to bliss, we needs must die. 



14 



THE FRAME 

Were we to frame our pictures in such wise, 
That no enhancement would be duly lent 
To gracious subtleties on which was spent 
Our flame ; we could not justly stigmatize 

Indifference. When love-flushed lips and eyes 
Are framed by massive golden hair, we vent 
Frank, lavish praise. Yet were the tresses bent 
O'er noble brow less fair, not to the skies 

Should we our Aphrodite laud. Oh, yes. 

The frame counts much. Ofttimes there rests on 
sheet. 

Disfigured by unsightly word or dress. 
Some jewel smothered in the baneful reek. 

The skimming eye nor reads nor heeds. In waste 
'T is lost, or tainted by a noxious taste. 



15 



THE SETTING 

In the fresh cool of matutinal hour, 

*Neath chestnuts dense that shield an Augustus sky. 

What joy to climb in expectation high 

To mountain perch, to wilding native bower 

Of some glazed Robbia, a pious dower 

From Gratitude ! What bliss to sweep with eye 

The Tiber's plain, then mount in ecstasy 

The slope where dwelt the sweetest cloistral flower. 

Seraphic Francis, and on Giotto's wall 

To view his tender zeal to right the wrong ! 

What rapture 't is to pass from hall to hall 

Athirst, then burst upon the " Stanze's " song. 

Framed in its very frame congenital ! 

This is the way that works of Art enthrall ! 



16 



THE PREFACE 

At twilight after storm, we buoyant greet 
The break of lucent green in sodden air; 
" This is a harbinger, it will be fair/* 
We say, and on the morn, accoutred, meet 

The emblazoned day. My Art seems incomplete 
Because we should approach it up the stair 
Of keen desire, and prelude should prepare 
The mind. But sudden view, or indiscreet 

Farrago of massed works. Intention spoils. 
If we could but the wandering eye enslave — 
As dramatist adroit the heart entraps 

In his ascending wilderment of toils — 

And lead it up the polished columned nave 
Into the final Glory of the apse ! 



17 



TO THEMIS 

In summer when the night is clear and cold. 
Impartial falls the dew — a diamond sea — 
On humble tre-foiled clover, stately tree. 
And proud, wide leaves of blazing flower of gold, 

Turning to thee, O Phoebus, while you hold 
The sky with flame unbiased. It may be 
That at some Orient gate, blind equity 
Is dealt by spangled sultan uncontrolled. 

Whom we deem truculent, yet at the core 

Kindlier, because more swift, perhaps more just 

Than our protracting ministers of Law. 

We "justice loving " Saxons crown the bust 

Of Themis, and with reverence place it o*er. 

Oh, not the Pauper's, but the Rich man's door ! 



i8 



SUNDAY VESPERS AT S 

When willows quiver in the golden air. 

When shadows prone athwart the silent leas 
Weave purple strands soft-creeping by degrees 
Towards the basking hills, then I, too, share 

The Peace of Seventh day, and unaware 

Of sixfold fret, pass rapt 'neath reverent trees 
Into the glooming navels solemnities. 
Immersed in soothing atmosphere of prayer. 

Here even I^ poor worldling, am enthralled 
By dighted memories that equalize 

The sunset glow from sanctities inwalled ; 

By some full-throated voice that throbbing cries 

From organ-loft above the Robbia choir. 

If Heart is touched, why need the Brain inquire ? 



19 



DAYS OF ILLNESS 

In deepest shade of sombre, towering pines — 
Primeval pinnacles — I seem to lie 
Beneath their canopy, which bars the sky. 
And dark portentous mysteries confines 

Within its gloom. No ferns nor humid vines 
Thrust through the piled up needles, ages high! 
Naught but the brake of branches sere that die 
In the dun sunless limbo, which defines 

The limits of a region yet more dim. 

And more mysterious far. But world-ward near 
Its gate, there gleams like flaming sword God-set 

At Eden's portal with the Cherubim, 

A laurel-blaze — the winged angels peer. 
Thither some day I may emerge — not yet. 



20 



VALUATIONS 

Whilst conning estimations absolute 
Of genius made at various times, I note 
The widely varying values, that connote 
Standards diverse 'mong those who would impute 

Priority to idols. Now we hoot 

Derisive these sure verdicts ! Yet remote 
The lesson which should serve as antidote 
To baneful measurements, indeed acute, 

But equally absurd. What craze to rank 
The unrankable ! Sufficeth it not to say 
This man is strong — that man of purpose veils 

His strength — and this one wept, while that one 
shrank 
From tears ? We wield dissection's knife to-day 
More apt — but do we steadier hold the scales ? 



21 



REFLECTIONS 

I LOOK upon the glassing river's face, 
And see therein a mirrored pageantry. 
The amethystine clouds, the subtlety 
Symphonic of the varied greens that grace 

The timbered banks and grassy interspace. 
But yet the vision is not effigy 
Exact of what hangs o'er : some entity 
Is lost, while mere transmission doth efface 

Some splendor, or of light, or deep-toned shade. 
I look upon the face of a clear soul. 

And see therein its image as 't was made. 

Candid and free from guile. Oh no ! The whole 

Is never seen ; some shadow is concealed. 
Some glowing whiteness is but half revealed ! 



22 



DEGREES OF CHARM 

I 

Say not this rendering of a graceful thought 
Is bad, because 'twas born in florid days, 
Or in the pseudo-classic time, when bays 
Crowned dogmas, or when " Macchinisti '* wrought 

Foreshortened prodigies, and science brought 
To wide expectant wall, that well may daze 
The best of us. If their bravura ways 
Not ours be, ours not theirs, the true retort. 

Byzantium's saints askew on vitreous glare 
Of dome impress by majesty august. 
Then Art was " dead." Not so ; rude at the start. 

It blooms, then deflorescent wanes, yet ne'er 
Dies. Oft on high, as often in the dust. 
And yet withal some charm — so it be Art. 



23 



DEGREES OF CHARM 

II 

The oak-leaf in Its bourgeon-days divine 
Is fair, indeed, with fairness of the young, 
With comeliness of contrast keen, fresh-sprung 
From shaggy veteran boughs immune. The fine 

Full forms of growth attained, the scalloped line 
That marginates, the bluish glints among 
The sombre greens that shade cupped acorns, hung 
Adjacent, e*en with ampler beauty shine. 

And then Decadence comes : the vinous reds 
Deep dye the curling sapless leaf, and blaze 
Rich harmonies that compensate. The late 

Wan browns resplendent shine on turquoise beds 
Of heaven. At last in sere and crumpled phase 
It falls, and serves itself to reinstate. 



24 



Giovanni 

Sun-tempered peasant from Abruzzi's peaks'' 

Sek Page 41 





/^- 



TWO WINDOWS 

When sunbeams mellow grow, and mellowing fade. 
When in the gloom of unachieved desire 
I pose my tools, when the creative fire 
Is spent ; then through the tepid crescent shade 

Of May rise from the street the throb of trade. 

And jar of wheels, their cries who hawk the mire 
Of daily sheets, the frenzied tramp of buyer, 
Of him who seeks, of him who would evade. 

Another casement looks towards westering sun 

O'er convent garden green. Through leafy throng 
Pour waves of music from the virgins veiled. 

With organ strains. While I, erstwhile undone. 
Now weltering in the pulsing tide of song 
See peerless things, e'en where my hand had failed. 



25 



BROTHERS OF THE WEST 

Oft, kinsmen of the West, you speak as though 
We brothers, who indwell on orient shore, 
We of the East, who you but yester bore, 
Were aliens, and variations racial show, 

Such as the herder 'neath high Alpine snow 

Of Piedmont shows to swain who basks near hoar, 
Archaic Selinuntine shafts. No more 
Is he who tends the olives' terraced row. 

Overlooking margins blue of soft Proven9e, 

Like him who sees La Manche's white-caps flow ; 

Yet of one country — Italy and France. 

And we, blood brothers — if we will it — know 

Our ties consanguined must the State advance. 
The seeds of universal Manhood sow. 



26 



THE "EMPIRE" 

How dare we brand this polished classic Art, 
As passionless and pale, a livid light 
From Roman flame ; as though a ghastly blight 
Lay on the ardent band who would impart 

Its feeling rapturous, the throb of heart 
For chastened form, its furious delight 
In calm ; as if it had no well-won right 
To claim of recognition its due part! 

How dare we hound as formalists of stone, 
Canovas, Davids, Perciers and their kin ! 

For they were honest ; and they, too, were blown 
Amain by an afflatus genuine. 

They were as fiery in their coldness pure. 
As hottest of us all. Their fame is sure. 



27 



A "BELLA ROBBIA" 

At this full season of the burdened year, 
My thoughts are framed like Robbia relief 
With fruit and haughty flower, with needle-leaf 
And resined cone of lofty spruce, with sere 

Ripe grain upright, and lowlier plants that near 
The furrows creep despised — yet past belief 
For bloom these kitchen Cinderellas. Chief 
Among them note the flaming yellow sphere 

Beneath huge leaves ; then note the tight-coiled ball, 
Its foliage purple-tinged with pallid veins, 

Bearing a sordid name I dare not call. 

Perchance this wreath of varied products frames 

Some sweet Madonna with the lengthened eye. 
Supremely tender. Who shall say ? Not I ! 



28 



CONVICTIONLESS 

I 

To-day I thrill in glint of morning hour 
At open fields, and hills that nobly sweep. 
Their emerald clearings, their massed foliage deep 
Casting blue tufted shades — a jeweled bower! 

To-morrow, lo, these vivid clusters lower 

Beneath the white south wind, and willows weep 
Dull tears compliantly. Again they sleep 
Enveiled in mists of mildest summer shower. 

And with these changings of the protean air 
My mood keeps equal pace in swift caprice ; 
For now the pensive tones out-laugh the gay 

Enfeted fields begemmed ; and now despair 
Inscrutable uplooms, while flowers cease 
To radiate in light, and all seems gray. 



29 



CONVICTIONLESS 

II 

And if with high endeavor long sustained. 

We would portray the sweeping line of height. 

And multiform exuberance of bright 

Wide fields, the gem-like glints, the grasses grained 

With russet reds, the fringe around the untrained 
Gold-hearted daisies ; then with all our might 
We must unswerving keep in constant sight 
Our primal throb, immaculate, unstained. 

If he who would create is daily swayed 

By some ephemeral whim, some fashion's freak. 
Some glamour shed by dominating glare, 

Convictionless he '11 wander on paths frayed 
In a blind maze, nor tread Parnassus' peak. 
Nor feel the bays. Naught but the passing stare. 



30 



TO SCIENCE 

In the World's race, O Science, you sore strain 
Our credence with the miracles that bring 
Great gain — perchance not bliss. And you do 

wring 
Ejaculations sharp from us, who crane 

The neck to reach a cornice-crest, till brain 

Staggers at BabeFs dream achieved. You string 
A subtle web from crag to crag, a thing 
Secure o'er which may pass the pond'rous train 

Propelled by vapor mere. And score on score 

Of wonderments you fling through the land's length 
And breadth. But must Uncouthness mate with 
Force ? 

Would Beauty mar ? What of the Gods of yore. 
Those virile athletes fair, whose flawless strength 
Lay in the harmonies of limb and torse ? 



31 



NOT IN VAIN 

How leaps the jaded flesh to call of will 

Whene'er it strikes the clarion note of need. 
Whether to help some nameless broken reed. 
Or importunities of self fulfill ! 

The smooth machine purls swiftly on until 
Some trifling flaw, or something over-keyed 
Will snap it. But sore may the body bleed 
Nigh spent with pain, yet never cease to thrill. 

Earth's forces in their awful throes upheave 
Her rind, and variegate the wildered eye's 

Horizon ; show where sparkling metals cleave 
To hard alloy ; declare what men most prize. 

What they should shun. Perforce we must believe 
Our utmost efforts a provision wise. 



32 



WHEAT FROM CHAFF 

Alas, poor Art, thou hast become the goal 
For waifs, malingerers, stragglers from the line 
Of strenuous men who gladly pay the fine 
That competence exacts, — men sound of soul 

Who question not the cost that makes the whole 
Of Life a stress, yet Victory. And thine 
The shame that thou shouldst court the specious 

shine 
Of silken cant, of verbiage fair ! Enroll 

Not in thy band this masquerading crew 

Of fribbling men, nor yet the dames who prate 
Hysterical. Oh, Beatific Art, 

Save not this jetsam from the bark of true 

Intent : sole let thy servants stanch be freight. 
And guide the quivering keel to favoring mart ! 



33 



DID WE BUT DARE! 

The savage thunderbolt in furious swoop 
Excoriates and rifts with stunning roar 
The patient, fearless peaks that calmly soar 
Into the clouds' array, and its red whoop 

Of war catch and fling back, in echoing troop 
Of bass reverberations, to the hoar 
Astounded mists. What bearing of these more 
Than human things, which to no meanness stoop ! 

Dared we but stop and brand the obvious lie 

That 's daily thundered by some fetished tongue. 
And hurl it Cain-marked to the gaping mass ! 

Dared we deride the wrath of Sanctity 

Fore-guarded by the assent which holds among 
The sheep-like crowd — then Truth for Truth 
might pass ! 



34 



MICHELANGELO — MILTON 

I 'vE often mused beneath the frescoed vault. 

Whereon the austere Tuscan has unrolled 

Creation's cycle, and in manifold 

Compartments, deftly planned, Man's primal Fault 
And Fall has wrought in forms which so exalt 

The soul, that neither lazuli nor gold 

We miss, till then the law. The heroic mould 

Suffices and soft grays, in glad default 
Of garish splendor. And while musing so. 

The thought has come, that he who trumpets sound 

August, and sings in monumental line 
The same great epopee, nor yet below 

The Angelo in flight, may here have found 

Some inspiration for his high design. 



35 



TO A PORTRAIT 

(new ENGLAND VICTRIx) 

Against a background cool of solemn green — 
That holds its hue of life in teeth of blasts 
Which kill less hardy growths, and kindly casts 
Deep grateful shade in heated terms — a Queen 

She stands, blonde daughter of the pine, in mien 
Both grave and sweet, erect as soaring masts 
Hewn in her native woods. As long as lasts 
Her kind the Nation 's safe. For that serene 

Presence holds character, and truth, and will 
Unswerving to enact the right. And yet 
Not will alone ! Swift through the dusky air 

Shoots an aggressive beam ; and a bright frill 

Of light enwreathes the larch-crowned hair, a fret 
Of gold — Oh azure eyes ! Oh bosom fair ! 



36 



The Olive 

Naught is more lovely than the olive-tree" 

See Page 52 



DOUBLE HOLLYHOCKS 

When after procreant rains in warm July, 
The clear septentrion breezes scintillate. 
My double hollyhocks' gay pennons fete 
The freshened verdure with infinity 

Of petals crumpled in avidity 

To flaunt — like peacock vain to court his mate. 
Less braggart are they when in single state. 
Yet fairer in their plastic eurythmy. 

In reading some old volume long forgot 

* Neath lava streams from Man's eruptive mind, 
I startle at some pregnant pithiness 

Garbed tersely in sonorous phrases, not 
In verbiage pedantic, oft designed 
To cloak some stale idea with copious dress. 



Z7 



THE REMEDY 

Absorbing sunbeams on a westward slope. 
Obliquely watching changes in the sky. 
My garden grows in blooming symmetry. 
Its full- toned tessellations fairly cope 

With the eternal pictures planned by Pope 
Paschalis, deathless Rome to glorify. 
Yet by intensest culture this so high 
Estate is reached — my consummated hope. 

If our good Ship of State can keep afloat, 

And fetch in foaming windward thrash the port 
That 's now invisible ; if we can sight 

A culture wide-diffused, which would connote 
The only guarantee against the sort 
Of Law the tyrant few devise — All 's right ! 



38 



IN HOT WEATHER 

I 

It often happens that the tide of heat 
Rolls densely o'er a crowded city's face 
With fiery ruthlessness, and the foul place 
Sun-saturated bakes, e'en when trade's beat 

Has ceased at night, while myriad restless feet 
Tramp on, and flesh adust that would efface 
Itself, like Dives crieth out for grace 
From finger-tip dipped in cool water sweet. 

Hast ever, feeling thus, to ocean's shore 
Been swift translated, and the mighty reach 
Of white unnumbered sands caught sudden view? 

And heard enrapt the lengthening raucous roar 
Of the incomparable sea on beach ? 

And felt its aqueous breath, and lived anew ? 



39 



IN HOT WEATHER 
II 

Or yet again alight from stifling train 

Hast deep inhaled the even-tide's cool breeze ; 
And marked the rustling of the surcharged trees 
In lushest June; and hearkened the refrain 

Of pliant hssom leaves that dance amain 

In twilight cool to quickening wind that frees 
Itself from bosky heights; and seen broad seas 
Of waving grass, and tall, blue-bending grain ? 

Oh Painter, you can give the afterglow 

From sun, the pallid flood of ambient light. 
The wooded hills, the trees where birdling sings. 

And waving grass, and corn blue-bending low ; 
But ah, the ecstatic fragrance of the night! 
The exhalations from the heart of things ! 



40 



GIOVANNI 

I 

Sun-tempered peasant from Abruzzi's peaks 
Of trembling rose cooled by cerulean stain 
From lazy clouds, thou comest to the plain 
Of triple-crowned tiara — plain that reeks 

With immortalities, where captive Greeks 
Victoriously uphold the lordly strain 
Of Rome, and Art Renascent not in vain 
Contends. Thou seekest him who ever seeks 

Fair forms to realize. And thou art proud 
To be his means, and eat thy frugal meal. 
A model for the simple life, oh, wooer 

Of graces let him pose. Vie not with loud 
Philistine flare. To thy pure lights be leal ; 
For Art unyielding must needs aye be poor. 



GIOVANNI 

II 

Wise Sadi tells us Poverty can find 

With Allah no acceptance. Wandering prayers 
Reach not his gracious ear. But he that fares 
In ease, can give entirety of mind. 

Oh, Father, who precedence hast assigned 
In paradise to Sacrifice, the tares 
Thy servants opulent — transferring wares 
To thee in easy ratio — have designed 

To check our better growth — these tares destroy, 
And grant us ready wit with righteous pride, 
A two-edged blade, to stand against the rife 

Effrontery of Gold, that in its joy 
Of arrogant possession would deride 
Us — Us — who lead the elevated Life. 



42 



UNNATURAL SELECTION 

The lordly Iris, guarded by its blades. 
We cultivate for its imperial hue 
Touched with aureolin. It native blew 
In far Japan, till by fair favoring trades 

'T was wafted here. The rich flamboyant shades 
Of oriental Poppy pale the crew 
That lesser would compete. Content we view 
This primacy that e'en proud things degrades. 

The timid Violet we raise and love 
Not for its diffidence, but its supreme 
Aroma — and so on — always the best. 

Yet when it comes to man, those who above 

The average tower, pass on. Of Gods we dream. 
And live by mediocrity oppressed ! 



43 



"COMPETITIONS" IN ART 

It must be wormwood to those urgent men — 
Who would to competition aye resort. 
And gauge by numbers the poetic thought — 
That there 's no deity within their ken 

Who may contest our Benefactor when 

He moulds the graceful surfaces that court 

The carping eye with color and extort 

Its praise. They must reluctant say " amen/' 

Yea, the supremest flowers, the amplest fruit 
Claim the enrichment of their special soil, 
Congenial airs, protection from the stress 

And tumult of the storm, degrees that suit. 
Most loving vigilance and tender toil. 
Weeds thrive in earth that serves the striving press. 



44 



ILLUMINATE, O LORD! 

When we awake at night a keener sense 
Of coming ills — that in the glare of day- 
Dance airily on many a fatuous ray 
Of specious light — our eerie thoughts condense 

To concrete fears, 'gainst which our sole defence 
Seems sempiternal sleep. Yet ashen gray 
Of chilly dawn shall scarce have passed away. 
When glossing sun will deftly lure them hence 

As every morn it lures the glistering dew. 

The glossing sun ? Then surely this would mean 
That beauty masks the truth, and man sees right 

When all His works are veiled. If such be true 
Deceive no more, O Lord, with garish sheen, 
But shed thy Spirit pure o'er day and night. 



45 



VEILED RIVER 

In my fair land there colls a river dear 

Through flower-garnished meads ; nor has it mate 

Elsewhere. Slowly it rolls deliberate 

In dark rimmed sluggish swirls from weir to weir, 

Like halcyon moments of a vexed career 

'Twixt storm and storm. Soft willows marginate 
Its banks, and build high cloisters foliate. 
Their branches groin the airy hemisphere 

Bedimmed, and shed a soothing tone of low. 
Mysterious green, relieved by welcome note 
Of piercing blue. Could I but smooth my brow 

Immured in such a shrine, and watch the flow 
Of levities, as buoyant nothings float 
Adown the tide — fain would I take the vow ! 



46 



Pompeii 

On many a morn athwart the slanting rays" 

Ske Pagk 54 



< ^ ■ j 




■■y' I ('■ 



•i 







— 










1 ' 




CSSCSSPBk/' '' 












^3i'' 


,1^' 








mi 





EVENING AT STOCKBRIDGE 

The sun has slipped behind the voided cloud, 
But nov/ distended with the wrath of storm. 
That spent its copious self upon the warm 
Awaiting earth ; and violet vapors shroud 

The flowering, incensed meads, the hills low-browed. 
Sweet notes from distant chimes melodious swarm^ 
Like flight of tuneful birds, and soft inform 
With Peace the soul in contemplation bowed. 

The storm of fiery years has spent its force, 
Whereof the memory vague is but a shred 
Of mournful gray, mere leaden fret on sheen 

Of joy. While nearward in their rhythmic course 
Float dulcet echoes of the things well said 
Or done, nor jarred by clanging " might have been." 



47 



REQUIESCAM 

The lights are out, all out, and I, alone. 
Am groping in the dense Cimmerian night 
Among mute things : nor can I guide aright 
My course by touch habitual, nor tone 

Of wonted voice. Naught but spent stock or stone 
To be my Pharos flame. The mouldering blight 
Of apathy is mine, which clouds the bright 
Responsive stars — studding the welkin's zone — 

Aglow with alien fire, like to the kind 

Moist eyes that beam with kindling sympathy 
When we present our best, and ever keep 

Us to true trend. Ah, when the love enshrined 
Is veiled by ashen lids, when in the sky 
The stars no more respond — then let me sleep. 



48 



CLOUDS 

I WOULD not dwell in Allah's paradise, 

In fruitful gardens 'neath which rivers flow. 
That irrigate the incensed flowers that grow 
Enamored toward uninterrupted skies. 

For I should miss the rains that fertilize ; 
The deep-blue shadows on the plains below 
Swift coursing clouds — like waves when sea-winds 

blow — 
And purple play on emerald wolds that rise. 

And I should miss the heavy masses dun 
Of some embattled wall, or clustered trees 
On cumulative vapors opaline ; 

And yearn for ruby fret o'er setting sun, 

Or pearly mists that greet the dawn's cool breeze. 
Or noon-day gems set in the sapphirine. 



49 



ITALIAN SKETCHES 

I _ LUNGHEZZA 

I KNOW not if these ardent studies made 
In fair, heroic Italy be fraught 

With pleasure greater than the pain sweet thought 
Of prototype oft brings, since day I bade 

Farewell. The keen remembrance does not fade, 
Nor needs inadequate portrayals wrought 
In feverish fervor by a fancy caught 
With charm. Alas, they goad the unallayed 

Desire to feel again. This bit was done 

On the Tiburtine road. Red poppies strew 
The pallid fruiting grass, a swaying blaze 

To breeze. Long granaries that gleam in sun, 
With alternating piers and voids, on blue 
Of Apennine, gleam, too, with radiant days. 



5° 



ITALIAN SKETCHES 

II — S. SABINA 

'T IS said Saint Dominic, that trumpet-call 
To torpid souls, did plant an orange-tree 
That foliates and fruits in secrecy 
Within a cloistered garden near a tall. 

Square, storied tower, which dominates with wall 
Of mediaeval craft th' acclivity- 
Rising abrupt o'er swirls that seek the sea. 
In tawny mass from Umbrian vales they fall. 

Here in the dreamy month of languid May, 
I limned the plumed palm, and grafted tree 
Whose glossy leaves and fragrant bridal flowers 

Like diamonds glinted in the matin ray. 
O Heart, when icy blast congealeth thee, 
How long I for those sunny cloistered bowers I 



SI 



ITALIAN SKETCHES 

III — THE OLIVE 

Naught is more lovely than the olive-tree. 
Or when it casts its ashy cloud of green 
In fairy featheriness on lazuline 
Sea-waves, or climbs the slopes that sweeping free 

Upsoar from some far-reaching, fertile lea 
To purple lofts ; or when its silver sheen 
Plays to the wind against the celestine. 
Or lulls in shades of verdant mystery. 

The weird anatomy of limb and trunk. 
Convolved and riven with age secular — 
To which our gnarled apples saplings seem — 

Cause wonder that a moss-grown stock, so sunk 
In sere decrepitude, should prove no bar 
To fruitage fresh — nor Age to fair young dream. 



5» 



ITALIAN SKETCHES 

IV— REACTION 

What splendid strength of tones in that gray wall ! 
What deep intensity of blue, enforced 
By contrast with the vivid vapors horsed 
To western wind ! What darkness of the tall 

Commanding cypress, the grand seneschal 
Of this great color- feast, a holocaust 
To sensuous eye, that does not quick exhaust 
Itself in flare, and then to blackness fall ; 

But like the foaming rain-bowed cataract 
Pours out perennial glory into space ! 
How far we are, poor men, in strength below 

Nature robust ! We force, and then react ; 
We launch our tensest efforts, and then brace 
Ourselves to meet the dreaded counter-blow ! 



53 



ITALIAN SKETCHES 

V — POMPEII 

On many a morn athwart the slanting rays 
I Ve ridden from my Eden-like abode 
*Mid orange-groves, down to the whitened road 
That cleaves the laughing plain, which — in those 
days 

The younger Pliny has portrayed — the craze 
Of wild-eyed Terror trampled. Pleasure sowed 
And pale Death reaped, while through the blackness 

glowed 
From unsuspected mount the fatal blaze. 

Yet in the streets exhumed of that dead town, 
Which lay for eons *neath the pumice-sea 
Engulfed ; or in some peristyle still rife 

With tints that gleam against the boding frown 
Of fuming crater^s cloud, it seems to me 
Less sad than in the living city's strife. 



54 



ITALIAN SKETCHES 

VI — VILLA CONTI, FRASCATI 

Cool villa Conti, thou hast been to me 
A rare retreat from Phoebus' brazen rays. 
And leaden cares, and fears of anxious days. 
As breeze-caressed o'er Rome's terrestrial sea — 

Where Peter's dome uplifts — the soaring key 
To heaven — I look ; or 'neath thy ilex maze, 
Bronze-tinted, gnarled, exultingly I gaze 
On plash of silvery jet, drought's threnody. 

Thy sculptured forms grotesque, thy gay arcades 
Expressions of a baser taste than ours. 
And storied terrace cleft by white cascades 

Have all been softened by the touch of time. 
So ripening age youth's vehemence endowers 
With mellowing traits, and moulds the man sublime. 



55 



ITALIAN SKETCHES 

VII — SAN GIMIGNANO 

Ah, it is long ago that in youth's blush 

I turned an angle of the rising way 

And caught the astounding glimpse of towers' array, 

Which rise from wall-girt hill like startled flush 
Of birds into the Tuscan sky, and brush 

The zenith's blue with crumbling weathered gray. 

Upon their crests it might be yesterday . 

That steeled factions smote — but for the hush. 
The marveling eye rests on a stage full-stocked 

With all the properties a play presage — 

A stage whereon no histrion appears. 
Yet in this mediaeval pyx are locked 

The living deeds of that romantic age. 

And sacred memories of my young years. 



S6 



ITALIAN SKETCHES 

VIII— ON THE SACRED WAY, ROME 

Only two notes — the unutterable blue 

On cloud-swept firmament, and the intense 
Sun-sodden ochres glaring from the immense 
Bare pile of Constantine, from residue 

Of once incrusted shrines, and old, yet new 
Fa9ade of Saint Francescas temple — whence 
The tawny travertine rays complements 
Of tone against the glaucous sky. Aye, two 

Notes only — blue ineffable and gold — 
The heavens unalterable and the ash 
From man consumed — the basking monuments 

Of erst impassioned worldlings, and the cold 
Indifference of speechless skies to crash 
Of States. — Yet what entoned magnificence ! 



57 



ITALIAN SKETCHES 

IX — ROMAN CAMPAGNA 

Sometimes I think it is the test of taste, 
The appreciation of the plain that sweeps 
From Tyrrhene sea to where Gennaro sleeps 
Serene, and aureoles the city traced 

By wolf-bred hand. The undulating waste. 

Whose flowering hummocks are but rounded heaps 
Of pillaged splendors, wrecks patrician, steeps 
In gloom the mind that broods on uneflFaced 

Enormities. But tone and perfect line 

Are all I see when breaks the unrivaled view — 

The madders, golds, and tints incarnadine. 
Each in their month, with the diviner hue 

On Sabine mounts, and aqueducts' straight, fine. 
And lessening flight into the far-oflF blue. 



58 



ITALIAN SKETCHES 
X — TO A FOUNTAIN 

I KNOW twin fountain-jets that tireless fling 
Great iridescent plumes of restless foam 
Into the even smalt of August's dome 
That brooks no cloud, nor indrawn mists which 
wing 

From distant strip of sea — like turquoise string 
On queenly, olive neck of girls whose home 
O'erlooks the plain of vineyard-girdled Rome — 
While streperous cicadas shrilly sing. 

The spray refalls in wide translucent sheets 
Into a mossy bowl of travertine, 
From thence to basin rimmed with balustrade 

Soft-stained by age. Here some blithe satyr meets 
His sylvan mate in mystic intertwine 
Of ilex deep, by wind-blown foam-flocks sprayed. 



59 



ITALIAN SKETCHES 

XI — EPILOGUE 

Think not I love ye less my native hills 

That on your crests no time-worn tower stands. 
Nor crenelated cap, nor marbled bands 
Alternate on a fane, wherein man fills 

His heart with tenderness ; that by your rills 
No villa, cypress-sentineled, expands 
Its stuccoed wings in festive, sparkling strands 
Of light, and from the air blue shade distills. 

If ye are modeled with less stately mien. 
If ye in winter wear repellent frown, 
Think not I love ye less ; for I adore 

Your summer lushness, the transcendent green 
O'er intervale, the mountains' foliate crown. 
And swift expression of sweet Nature's law. 



60 



Villa Contiy Frascati 

" Cool villa Conti, thou hast been to me" 

See Page 55 



GRAZIE, AMICO! 

When all he knew were on the other side. 
World-prone to say the fault was his alone, 
And scoffed a nature quick as fluff, that 's blown 
From seeding plants, to feel the rising tide 
Of Auster's breath — the speech that wounds just 
pride : 
When blood abjured its debts, when love had flown. 
And stanch-built buttressed friendships been o'er- 

thrown. 
When summer's fruits oozed gall, and insects lied 
In song, which chirped erewhile so sweet a note 
And true, that tired brain was lulled to rest : 
When all was lost, and naught seemed worth the 
while. 
Thou didst not say with them " There is a mote 
Beneath thy lids," but uttered words thrice blest. 
And pressed the hand - — God help thee for that 
smile ! 

6i 



"MAKE HAY" 

Capricious summer flies when I am sure 
That she has come complacently to stay, 
Enflowered like the silks of deft Cathay 
On her inwoven dress — sweet and demure, 

Yet warm withal : while I myself secure 
In confidence inept! And now the gray 
Imbues the landscape in the pensive way 
That did a tender school of France allure. 

But hold ! I feel the wakening southern air. 
And see the light-bursts on the leafy height 
And scent the stronger fragrance from the fields. 

Lo, there she is again, my darling ! Fair 

In her embroidered gown ! Now will she slight 
Me ? Nay, to fatuous love she gracious yields. 



62 



THE STRONGER SEX 

Think you the forum, or the badge of state. 
Or steel would bring you increment of power 
O sovereign woman soft, whom in an hour 
Select our benefactor did create 

Defenceless to defend her girded mate 

From his fell frowardness, and shift his lower 
Forbidding to consent by soothing shower 
Of moods, by inarticulate debate ? 

Which hath the greater potency for good. 

The soft persuasive airs that work their charm 
In furrows waiting *neath their crusted hood 

For spring ; or chill assertive gusts that would 
Invigorate — and yet work naught but harm? 
The telling bolt is flung when seas are calm. 



63 



WAITING 

How soft the darkling eve ! The sluggish cloud 
Yields copious rain, the drooping months' arrear, 
And sated earth beholden would appear 
To match the largess with its rising shroud 

Of summer mists that cool the parched crowd 
Of Hfe. Afar the lights that promise cheer 
And cordial welcome to the kinsman dear 
Who *s heralded by shriek of whistle loud. 

Now lower the key. By sympathetic sight 

Of harassed hearts, suppose the thundering train 

Bore not the living, but a corpse this night, 
A hero dead, or a poor broken brain 

Worn out in humbler strife. Then would yon light 
Seem funeral torch, and brackish tears the rain ! 



64 



MOUNTAIN-LAUREL 

I 
You flaunt, O Mountain-laurels, at the feet 

Of stern impassive pines that darkly loom 

Into the ringing blue, your flashing bloom. 

Pink-fluted buds in clusters dense make sweet 
Accord with blossoms fretted like the neat 

And airy fabrics dainty maids assume 

In summer time, and change New England's gloom 

Into the radiance of those lands where meet 
The red pomegranate, and the snow and flame 

Of oleander, to inlace their sheaves. 

O, Laurels, how we hopeless yearn for you ! 
Not for the gleam of clustered flowers — nor claim 

We fluted buds. We crave the sombre leaves 

That crown the brows of the immortal few ! 



6S 



MOUNTAIN-LAUREL 

II 

And who the few that wear the deathless crown, 
Whose brows seem aureoled beneath the green. 
So candidly they shine ? These reign serene 
By cumulative years' consent adown 

The decades long. See the great clouds that frown 
In piled up involutions, ranged between 
The zenith and the hills in shade and sheen. 
Called Cumulus. On such a mass Renown 

Assured must rest. But when we cross the tide 
Of Stygian stream, and still world-scented make 
Through asphodel inquiries for the smug 

Puffed Czars who did complacently abide 
With us, and profitable sceptre shake, 
The nether Gods will blandly stare and shrug. 



66 



GALL 

'T IS not the bondage of incessant toil 

That hurts — not that — since idleness conceals 
The patient canker-germ that sure reveals 
Its poison soon or late. Work is but foil 

To pleasure, and content the sweet recoil 

From flashing stroke thrust home, well done, that 

steels 
The flesh. The furrow or humped back appeals 
To pity, not to crime, on our free soil. 

But of potentialities rob man 

Say unto him, "Thou shalt not be of us, 

Thou canst not rule, thou hast the taint of caste.'* 

That is what hurts, and that the cursed ban 
Which makes him hate, and plot the infamous 
Assassination. God ! must such wrong last .'* 



67 



DRAWINGS FROM LIFE 

These drawings from the quick in black, or red, 
Delight, because without reserve they yield 
First-fruits of fiery thought yet unannealed 
By cooling exigent of over-bred 

Finality ; because they give a shred, 
A bit consummate in itself, and sealed 
With personality, oft unrevealed 
In sacrifice called " picture." Warranted 

They are to evidence the strength, or lack 
Of that trained faculty, control of form. 
Untouched by savage passion for the glow 

From opulence — a gift the fumbling pack 
Ignores — and yet of lofty art the norm — - 
A gift the greatest masters always show. 



6S 



DISSOLUTION 

Oh, Death, why should thy pallid blossom yield 
Such loathsome fruit, that 'gainst the will we shrink 
From cherished forms, which ere they reached the 

brink 
Of fate, roamed radiantly life's pulsing field. 

Could we but shun thy gruesome rites revealed. 
Thy functions grim, the touch by hands unclean, 
The smothered fumes by counter-fumes more keen' 
Of spicy plants — and yet but half concealed ! 

Could we but mask the facts with glozing art, 
And cast a glorious halo round the dead — 
Fit tribute to fit life — and let the end 

A resurrection be ! Then might we part 

Resigned, aglow with sweet lament, not dread ; 
As when afar we lose a well-loved friend. 



69 



TO A LUNETTE 

Sweeter to gaze and idly dream than toil. 
And with averted eye from tools that irk, 
Absorb the anodyne delights that work 
Nor fret — begot of beam from fecund soil — 

And lassitudes delicious which soft coil 

Around the will, as noiseless serpents lurk. 

Then twine their spell-bound prey. Dreams clear 

the murk 
Of care, as clears fierce crest-curls calming oil. 

Alert to imitate the phases fleet 

Of light or line with brush, were but to lose 

Their charm. The medley wild of visions trapped 

In Procrustesian verse were tame. To steep 
In ink sweet ecstasies were gall. Why bruise 
The enchantment of a contemplation rapt ? 



TO AN ENGRAVING 

Each cloudless morn I greet the sturdy sun 

That shoots obliquely through the leaded panes 

His vital rays, and shower of gold-dust rains 
Upon a picture that erst shed on one 

I loved its calmness. She, alas, has run 

Her gentle course ; but graven line maintains 
Its charm ineffable. What chasteness reigns 
O 'er the fond mother and the haloed son ! 

What sweet sereness in her Umbrian face ! 

How blond the infant pressed to Virgin's heart ! 

E'en lack of color lends an added grace. 
No reproductive process can impart 

The burin's purity, nor yet displace 

Its use, which mastered, is itself an Art. 



A PRAYER TO THE STATE 

O State, evince thy Puissance not alone 
By walls of steel, nor yet prodigious power 
Of huge projectiles that in flash devour 
Whole clans. Not only on thy strong, full-grown 

Resistless forms, well panoplied — aye prone 
To safe-guard, not attack — not only shower 

■ Thy golden gains ; but be a noble tower 
Of Elegance. Shine as in Athens shone 

Chryselephantine Pallas glorious. 
Impressive in her peerless imagery 
To loyal citizens. Stand forth not less 

In Beauty. Yea, stand forth victorious 
In raiments laureate. The primacy 
In Art assume. Conquer by comeliness ! 



72 



TO MERCHANT PRINCES 

I 

If we must argue on a plane so low, 

O prince-projectors of emprises great — 

Whose highest aspiration, is to mate 

Your golden stream with rich Pactolus' flow — 

Ye who with masterly prognosis sow 

To reap a gross percentage, know this rate 
Would grosser be did ye bad taste abate 
And spend a modicum on studied show. 

What crime it is to smear God*s faultless leas 
And crags with vulgar placards of your trade. 
Till some forswear the thing ye crave to sell ! 

What need is there to trick utilities 

With costly, savage gauds ? Bad Art displayed 
Serves not to draw, but rather to repel. 



7Z 



TO MERCHANT PRINCES 
II 

For if the useful things should shapely be, 

They would not want this high-priced tawdry waste 
Which costs ye more and brings ye less. Good 

taste. 
Is good investment. If on harmony 

Of each, and happy mutuality 

Your vast emporiums were firmly based. 
As well as on a rock, the world would haste 
To see these marvels of sweet symmetry. 

There are communities, beyond the seas 
That live on interest of monuments — 
Chefs-d'oeuvres — that on their primal cost do 
make 

Percentage in the hundreds with great ease. 
Oh, Beauty, pardon this base reference 
To gain, now proffered for thy gentle sake. 



74 



A VISION 

(SEPTEMBER JO, I 899) 

Could the Triumphal Arch stand proudly here 
Amid the leafy troops, and at their head 
High Autumn waving oriflammes, instead 
Of in the masquerading town — veneer 

Upon the mean, that makes the crude appear 
Yet cruder ! Could our heroes, heralded 
By ringing breezes out of heaven, tread 
Beneath the storied groups that stately rear 

Their incandescent forms upon the sky 

Dimming the pearly clouds ! This would inspire 
Enthusiasm : and Nature*s majesty 

The conquerors would abase. Then in our fire 
We might forget the price of victory — 
The glory flaming from a Nation's pyre. 



75 



CONFIDANTS 

Brave Hearts, who grievous maladies do bear 
In martyred flesh or mind tormented, choose 
Not to tax the overtaxed, nor yet abuse 
The quick encalloused ear to long despair. 

Go shout your bitterness to piping air 

That gulfs all lesser sounds in full-winged cruise 
Among concordant trees. Aye, go diffuse 
Your plaints on waves preoccupied with their 

Own thunderings ; or better, cry them clear 
And loud with clenched lips to your own soul 
That should have patience of the gods above : 

Or best of all, breathe in the blighted ear 
Of some sweet sympathetic mute your dole; 
She '11 take it for the frenzied breath of Love ! 



76 



SWIFT MOODS 

Slowly the wondrous aureate change Is wrought 
From dusky August's greens — which densely ward 
On sated ramage the unharassed sward 
'Gainst scorching rays — to tones that eager court 

The heightening beams, and tender-swaying sport 
Upon the foiling blue — a brave accord 
By contrast. Slow the myriad hues on broad 
Mosaic fields, gay Summer's craft, are brought 

To sereness uniform. But from the deep 
Abyss of dark despondency when Life 
Has seemed to be achievementless, and when 

No excellence declares my zeal, I leap 

To tumult of swift joy, to guerdoned strife, 
To self-esteem — and then to gloom again ! 



n 



SPENSER 

(suggested by some windows) 

Uplifting it has been to bide with thee, 
Pure bard, and in thy rarer air peruse 
The deeds of errant Knights thy roseate Muse 
With sweet refinement hadst ability 

To sing, and then " in all Humilitie " 

To Faery Queene present. I would not lose 
The tales of doughty paladins who bruise 
Incarnate vice for Ladies. Yet to me 

Thy spell lies in the noble end avowed — 
To fashion in the virtuous discipHne 

A Gentleman. And do, in faith, our proud 
Progressions now more comely laurels win 

To crown a Life, than the " Gentilitie " 
Of Spenser, or his lofty " Chevalrle? " 



78 



CLEAR SKIES 

To-day I laugh full-mettled in the shine 
Exalting as it heaves above the crests 
Deliberate, and on the landscape nests 
From flowered foreground to remotest line 

Of the perspectived hills, which scarce define 
Their high pretensions on a Hght that vests 
The horizon with a nacreous veil, and wrests 
From irised opal victory. Divine 

The sky unoccupied ! Divine my sky 
Unclouded by a vexing film of care ! 

Effulgent Stars, ye coruscate for aye 

In space — in unencumbered crystal air 

Beyond the vapor-girded earth. Could we 
But gleam in atmosphereless Life, like Ye ! 



79 



EVENTUALLY 

We shall emerge in course of time, I think. 
From satisfied Philistia through the maze 
Of thwarting crudities that block the ways 
To high refinement. Neither shall we sink 

Beneath the welter coarse, that cannot blink 
An eye emancipated. For there plays 
Below the surface-dross, on which we gaze 
Depressed, a zeal sure-saving that will link 

Us to accomplishment. So long as last 

These efforts resolute, so long there 's hope. 

O men, who to the beautiful hold fast. 
And ye of finer sex, Relax not. Ope 

The chiseled gates of Art, and let the past 
Ring out its tale from East to Western slope. 



80 



TO AN OLD MODEL 

Plebeian venerable, you have posed 
As Pontiff thrice-tiaraed, with the raised 
Ringed-hand in Latin style, whereon has blazed 
The pinch-beck gem, and finery that glozed 

Your vulgar state. Again we have transposed 
You on the canvas to the life, a crazed 
Old dotish pauper, and have been amazed 
At contrast. So our idols have imposed 

Upon us, man-like, sham on sham. For now 
We show as saints in Pharisaic mood. 
And now, off guard, poor things, for what we are. 

And if our thoughts were mirrored on the brow. 
And if we let the fancy's leprous brood 
Run riotous — dazed friends would gape afar ! 



8i 



FRUIT INVISIBLE 

Be not discouraged, Heart, because thy best 
Endeavors bear not sudden fruit ; that thy 
Dure throbs score not the heedless passer-by 
With obvious scar. Is not the crushing test 

Of hurtling missile made far from the crest 

Whence wistful gunners watch ? Does not the high 
Hot harvest gale release *tween sigh and sigh 
The ravished seed to germinating rest. 

Oft leagues from ripening fields where parent sere 
Sways low its amber head, nor anxious rates 
The loss nor gain of procreation's part ? 

But having flung its offspring to the near 

Fleet-swirling airs, the sweep of scythe awaits 
Unflinchingly. So wait thou, too, O Heart ! 



82 



'To a Fountain 

1 know twin fountain-jets that tireless fling" 

Skk Page 59 



A CULT 

We, who have labored long with guerdon small, 
Love as of old the bay-crowned classic muse 
Of gracious mien, whose harmonies accuse 
A guarded flame, whose curbed lips enthrall 

The human heart more than the floods that fall 
From facile tongues, which pilotless abuse 
The art that would the chastened methods choose 
And with a tithe of energy tell all. 

Yet, if grandiloquence would choke its thought 
With avalanche of words — if, undismayed 

By law, amorphous novelties be sought 

By those who all sweet singing do upbraid — 

So let it be. With those of chaster sort 

We '11 worship still the pure Castalian maid. 



S3 



TO A MEMORIAL WINDOW 

(from pilgrim's progress) 

I 

Farewell ye damsels beautiful and grave. 
Conceptions of a higher flight than mine 
Yet not more ardent ; for to the benign, 
Sweet memory of one beloved I gave 

My utmost art, and now distrustful crave 
Forgiveness for impuissance. Yet ye shine 
Resplendent in my dream, a stately line 
Of virgins fair with sumptuous symbols, save 

Pure Piety, more glorious still in white 

Unblemished, who with quiet gesture shows 

To wondering Pilgrim the transcendent sight 
Of mounts Delectable, where blue and rose 

Entwine their harmonies in radiant light 
Of Truth, of Love, of infinite Repose. 



84 



TO A MEMORIAL WINDOW 
II 

And now ye placid stand on minster wall 
Entraced, aglow with opalescent glass 
Of vibrant hues, and tranquil view the mass 
Of worshippers, not pitiless withal 

I trust ; since ye must see the pallid thrall 
Of cruel pain, and hear their sobs who pass 
In anguish next the bier, and heed, alas ! 
The misery of those who bear, nor call 

For sympathy of man. Again a peal 

Triumphant from the trembling pipes and ye 

Will note on brows conjubilant the seal 
Of bridal joy delirious. . . . To me 

Were great reward, indeed, if ye could heal 
The stricken soul — grant bliss enduringly. 



85 



THE PERMANENCE OF ART 

The flash of high intelligence is spent 

To nothingness, as equidistant light 

Upon yon bridge — twin-lived when sombrous Night 

Doth drowse — is smothered by more affluent 
White flare of Day, though it perchance has lent 

A timely hand to some wrenched soul contrite, 

Who gropes for higher things from out its plight. 

Yet lesser wit in beauty eminent 
Attired, continuous shines — now fierce, now faint. 

As sun or stars according to the hour. 

Where now the rare devices ? the array 
Of desuete rubrics of the past ? the quaint 

Machines of devastation ? Lo, the flower 

Of Art still blooms as on its natal day ! 



S6 



FALLING LEAVES 

Did myth of Danae its reason owe 

To woman's virtue mastered by the shower 

Of devilish, luring coin that doth deflower 

The stanchest souls ? Ah, what a sensuous show 

Those shining circlets scattered round the low 
Firm breasts ! E'en thus did Phidias endower 
His art with preciousness, and lift its power 
With gleam of gold inwrought on ivory's glow. 

But yet it might be that some poet's eye 
Discerned on autumn-day a gilded rain 
From trees unrobing for their wintry sleep — 

A fall of gold-leaf down a creamy sky — 
As I discern it now from boughs that wane. 
From limbs relaxing for a slumber deep. 



8; 



BACKGROUNDS 

If Spring of tender flush and promise fair, 

That out of swarthy mould evolves fresh greens, 
Would metamorphose black, forbidding dreams 
And tune them to the sough of quickening air : 

If Summer, luscious-lipped, with pigments rare 
Deep-stained, and full illumined by the beams 
Of ardent light, could be the certain means 
To tint with splendid hues our dull despair : 

If Autumn's rods of gold brought golden thought. 
Or Winter's icy rack with bale imbued 
The soul : then Life a symphony would be ! 

But nay ; our errant fancies over-wrought 

Their backgrounds make. The gay gild reaches 

rude : 
The sad would tarnish Eden's radiancy. 



83 



INTRICACY 

Upon the margin of the shrunken mere 

I saw the involutions intricate 

Of stranded, bleached roots that once did sate 

Great thirsty trees, but now on oozy bier 
Enshrouded in their whitened snarl appear 

Like petrified octopus in a state 

Of agony. And such will be the fate 

In after years of daedal phrase — the queer 
Enmeshing of a thought in tortuous style. . . . 

The tide of Life has ebbed ; but here and there 
From out the Forum rise into the smile 

Of Roman skies some graceful shafts that bear 
The stamp of Beauty still, and reconcile 

Us to a death that doth with life compare. 



89 



O NIGHT! 

Quiescent Night, thy deep sereneness grant 
To lay a thirst for things that cannot be. 
The Morning's goading beams arouse in me 
A wasting ecstasy of schemes, and taunt 

To strife a way-worn life, which efforts daunt 
In its decline : while the intensity 
Of searching Noon reveals in just degree 
My stature — ah so low ! But failures haunt 

Me at the dying hour of paling Eve ; 

And in the gloom I crave thy quiet light. 

Thy tranquil, studding stars that soft relieve. 
Thy ways inaudible that so delight 

The tossed. Into my being's fibre weave 

Thy golden strands of peace, O stellate Night! 



90 



AN OCTOBER SKETCH 

Yon graceful birch-tree turned to mellow gold. 

Whose fine-cleft leaves by merest breath are bent, 
Remind me of a fair-wrought ornament. 
The craftsmanship consummate of some old 

Greek artisan. Its form soft airs enfold 
Of palest amethyst, and complement 
Its hue. To classic maid the trinket lent 
A heightening charm, when graces manifold 

Lay unconcealed 'neath clinging lilac gauze. 
And yet this birch's sumptuous aureate tone 
Seems dull beside the maple-flames that leap 

Around a solitary spruce which soars 

Aloft in gloom — a burnished golden zone 
Setting in fire a mystic emerald deep ! 



91 



GREEN AGE 

In wonderment we gazed upon the swirls 
Of golden rack behind the naked trees — 
That wrought o'er wall of hills an inlaced frieze — 
Assuming shape of subtile, feathery curls 

EnsafFroned of a giant plume, which whirls 
Across an ether blue the northern breeze. 
It might be winter, but for summer's lees — 
The virid sward through which the streamlet purls. 

Dear friend, who wearest on thy face the mark 
Too obvious of thy crowded, ruthless years. 

Thou standest well-provided to embark. 

As shortening life thy longer journey nears. 

Yet many sturdy days remain, I ween. 

For thy fresh, buoyant heart is ever green. 



92 



TAKE NOT HER NAME IN VAIN 

Blue cinctured Land, whose monumental past 
Vies with the cypress grave, the wide-roofed pine. 
And olive vague to captivate, consign 
Thy lessening wealth of joyous craft to fast 

Deep dungeon-keep of Country. For the vast 
Array of cultured Goths would wrench thy fine 
Wrought scutcheons, tarsias deep, and glazed shrine 
From setting fair, symphonic ; and would blast 

Their beauty with antagonistic breath 
Of alien life — an ill-assorted match 
Of young with old. Guard, too, with jealous heart 

Thy sacred things from pundits* hands. Nor death 
Nor crypt they spare. E'en would they impious 

snatch 
Great Pharaoh's corpse. And this in name of Art 1 



93 



LATE OCTOBER 

What chilling fall of day ! The bitter gusts. 

Fore-trumping winter's march white-pennoned, scout 
The glacial skies, while on pale earth they rout 
Dry, crumpled, remnant foliage that rusts 

On barren boughs. The naked willow thrusts 
Its sheaf of branches radiate from out 
The pollard stump, as clustered runnels spout 
From Peter*s founts upon an air that lusts 

For moisture in Rome's arid summer-time. 

Ah me, the summer-time ! Then thou wast green. 
Soft tree, and lay empurpled shades above 

The emerald. And I in bliss did rhyme 

To thee, and still do rhyme ; for clear between 
The mesh of years, I see thy youth, sweet love ! 



94 



SUCCESS! 

We often hear the prosperous sagely say. 

That some poor artist needs the useful knack 
Called " getting on,'* and has a woful lack 
Of worldly sense, nor finds the tortuous way 

To wealth, to credit plethoric, decay 

Of conduct, rise of gold — for which men rack 
Both soul and fibre to possess, nor slack 
At opulence, nor age's silver gray. 

If "getting on" means conscience to the v/all, 
Means practice of law-sanctioned modes that yet 
Are dark, the coarse advertisement, craft's brag. 

The eclipse of probity, and over all 

The loss of Honor ; thank God we forfeit 
Place, that — as liegemen of the Muse — we lag ! 



9S 



TO WINGED EROS 

Comely thou art, white Aphrodite's son, 

A lithesome, dazzling youth, neat limbed with fair 
Articulations and trim torso spare. 
The muscles low-reliefed, not yet begun 

To swell with manhood's fibre firm, but none 
The less adroit to cleave the unwilling air 
With fateful shaft sure-guided to despair 
By long love-eyes — dark-lashed — to heart undone. 

Why spreadest thou strong iridescent wings. 

Wide-pinioned, from thy ivory blades, fell boy ? 
Because daft man believes fatuity 

Of love Divine? Thou hast these feathery things 
That thou mayst fly deflowered loves, enjoy 
The glad delirium of Inconstancy. 



96 



MIDWINTER 

Incredible it seems that waste of snow. 
And sheeted ice which duplicates the gray- 
Denuded coppice, should have late been gay 
With insolence of rampant hue, as though 

Perennial. Nor was it long ago 

That black in lieu of white thick-massed did lay 
Above that oval face, and winsome play 
Unleashed of dimples set with pearls did show 

To vantage spring-time on her wintry face. 
Sometimes I think the ill-environed brain 
Paints fairer than when fair reality 

Surrounds ; that rude antithesis of grace 

Doth force a lovelier note ; that through the rain 
And sleet we see intensest brilliancy. 



97 



TO BOREAS 

Whirl me with wrath, North wind, to southern shore ; 
I 'm weary : the chilled soul no longer strives 
Against thy blasts. 'T is aye the weaker lives 
Thou choosest and the rarest. For no more 

The strong man fears. By cumulated store 

Of crafty schemes the sturdy mob — where thrives 

The lust of gain, and leadership derives 

From height of hoard — heaps up its wealth before 

Thee impotent. Yet strength nor piled up gold 
Are all. Perchance the pliant, gracile heart — 

Transplanted whither wingless zephyrs hold. 
Infusing life, not bruising; — may impart 

Something of sweetness to the human fold. 

Then hurl me south, harsh wind, kind wind thou art ! 



98 



ENTHUSIASM WITHOUT DELUSION 

Let not my flame in wintry years grow faint, 
Nor the creative thirst be slowly quenched, 
As from the face of things the veil is wrenched 
Impregnate with the lure of tinsel's taint. 

When Tramontana winds have slipped restraint. 
And draw from cold Soracte's summit blenched — 
Chasing the filmy atmosphere that drenched 
With rosy witchery the view — and paint 

In deeper tones the more apparent line 
Fair-modeled of the lower Alban height. 

And loftier peaks of ranging Apennine ; 
Then am I grateful for the clearer light. 

O may enthusiasm e'er be mine 

Now that Delusion does not bar my sight ! 



99 



LiTb 



CHRISTMAS-TIME 

I MEET not Christ-joy in the eager press 

That throngs to see the dazzling purchase-traps, 
But rather barter-mania that caps 
Achievement with fatigue. Yet none the less 

'T is well to elbow for a merriness 

Having years' warranty ; more wise perhaps 
To narcotize the past by strain, than lapse 
Into aloofness from the sanctioned stress; 

For then I see the loved, departed band. 
With whom in parle I would participate, 
And lip to lip would ardently entwine 

My arms with theirs. Alas, unmoved they stand ! 
They do but wait for me — they do but wait. 
The empty place is at their board — not mine. 



too 



TO ENGLAND 

England, I love thee and I love thee not; 
I love thee for thy manumitted thought, 
Which we recalcitrant — true scions — brought 
To shores immune from privileged dry-rot. 

From courts whose later arrogance begot 

Our State. I love thy love to master aught 
That hinders — right or wrong. I love the sport 
Olympic of thy youths, who cast their lot 

Indifferent on field of play or flame. 

But most of all I love thee for those bards 
Who sang intrepidly of vigorous 

Societies birth -peer, to whom the name 

"Sovereign " was lye, thy snobberies the shards 
From shattered rights. They should have been of 
us. 



zoz 



THE RECOMPENSE 

Vertumnus patient delves, and thrills, and frets 
That his rath harmonies may bear the test 
Of spring-born, fragrant Flora's eyes celeste — 
Blonde Flora, tricked with fretted flowerets, 

Who sings with vernal air her soft duets. 
He toils to favor find with Summer's guest, 
Pomona dark, in green the deepest dressed 
Red-freaked with fruits, red as hot sun that sets. 

Yet when his crop is ripe for eager hands, 

He notes the stifling calm, the swooping great. 
Swart thunder-cloud, with scything wings outspread. 

And every nerve a-taut he powerless stands. 
We, too, with travail sore upbuild and wait, 
Not in achievement's Joy, but verdict's Dread. 



102 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



/■■/ 



103 



QUELLE BfiTISE! 

Here am I a-trilling 

'Neath a bourgeoned tree, 
Here am I a-willing 

That my song should be 
Tuneful as the thrilling 

Song of bird that 's free, 

When I should be sighing, 
Leashing words that beat 

Futile wings while vying 
To insure retreat. 

When I should be lying 
Stammering at thy feet. 



loS 



A SONG OF THE GARDEN 
I 
Said the Rose to strawberry, 
" Of all flowers I 'm the queen. 
So at least the lovely women who are very 
Lovely say. And I wear the royal red. 
While my orbs are garlanded 
With the fittest shade of green. 
And the pretty maids they bury 
Their sweet faces in my bed 
Of soft petals perfumed 
With rich odors that I screen.** 



iq6 



II 

Said the Strawberry to rose, 

" I *m the acknowledged king 

Of all fruit that in the luscious garden grows. 

And I, too, am imbued in royal red. 

While my cones are garlanded 

With a green of rhythmic ring. 

And the fairest maids one knows 

With warm lips on nectar fed 

Taste with daintiness inbred 

The high flavor that I bring." 



107 



A SONG OF THE RIVER 
I 

Would she flout me. 

Would she scout me 

In dismay, 

Should I stroke her haloed tresses. 

Should I tease her with caresses 

In the flaunting light of day, 

As the Sun-god toys with Terra 

Till she blazes red with shame. 

Conscious of her venial error ? 

Would she doubt me. 

Would she rout me 

Did I amplify her name 

With a " dearling " and a " darling," 

To the twitter of the starling 

Till her cheeks were all aflame ? 

While the willow leaflets shimmer 

And the wimpling wavelets glimmer. 

1 08 



II 

Would she shiver 
Would she shiver 
With delight, 

Did I breathe on swooning eyelids, 
As bold Phoebus breathes on Luna, 
Makes her smile with radiance bright ? 
Should I whisper what my heart bids 
Would her parting soft lips quiver. 
Would her teeth shine white the sooner. 
Would she throb to throbbing giver 
Should I kiss her in the night — 
In a boatlet down the river? 



109 



A SONG OF THE SEA 
I 

Black are yon sea and sky 
Charged with destruction, 
Cloud and wave blend in night 
On the horizon ; 
Nigh surge the combing crests, 
Green as the emerald, 
Tossing their spray on high 
Quick to devour. 

Let us sail into them, 
Grapple and perish. 



no 



II 

Blue is the sky above, 
The sea is resplendent 
Each wavelet is flashing 
Its jewel of sunlight. 
Color, and light, and calm 
Whisper " Welcome and linger. 
Here the unruffled soul 
Hath peace sempiternal.'* 

Let us launch into it. 
And float there forever. 



Ill 



TO GALENUS 

On a morn of resplendent weather, 

On an ApriFs ineffable day, 
That has severed its wintry tether. 

And bespeaks the white garlands of May, 

Galenus and I outpaddled 

In the quaintest kind of a boat. 

Not a care, not a thought that ensaddled 
Truant hearts on the streamlet afloat. 

When the righteous were at their devotion, 
And the plausible Pharisee, too. 

To us came the impious notion 
That He who created the view 



XI2 



Drawings from Life 

These drawings from tlie quick in black, or red" 



Skk Page 68 



Of mountain reflected in brooklet 
And turf turning green on the plain, 

Could be worshipped in open-air booklet 
Devoutly read by us twain. 

The willow shoots gay were imbrued in 

Their amber juices of spring, 
Which a bent for damp places now strewed in 

Our bent for the channels that bring 

To openings rippled by breezes, 
To pools that are dimpled by trout. 

To banks that the sand-piper teases. 
As our oars dipped in and dripped out. 



"3 



The air was transcendently quiet, 
Nay, even the birdlings were mute. 

Glad respite from turmoil and riot. 
The noise of that urbanized brute 

Called civilized man in the city, 

Where cacophonies dear to his heart. 

Serve the purpose — the greater the pity 
To attest the bulk of his mart. 

We were dreaming rather than speaking, 

Cheerful rather than gay, 
Each of us absently seeking. 

Perchance in identical way. 



114 



Vague phantoms and hallucinations, 
That come in the bud of the year 

To confound the vaticinations 
Of him who laughs at the fear 

Of Love the ever-persistent. 

Of Love that broods in the spring. 

Of Love that flouts the resistant ; 
Of all things the only thing. 

Galenus if you were but Phyllis 

Were your redolent hair blossom-bound. 
Did your raiments, white as the lilies, 

Betray the symmetries sound 



"5 



Of your limbs, of your figure consummate, 

Should I taciturn sit face to face. 
Overwhelmed by your graces, my dumb mate. 

In such a provocative place ? 

Or should I yield to temptation. 

When to yield to my soul would bring balm. 
And declare my quintessent sensation ? 

Would the face of the brooklet be calm ? 

And you, my sober Galenus, 

Were you dreaming the very same dream ? 
That I were your Phyllis ? . . . Between us 

We quietly worked up the stream. 



1x6 



THE CHOICE 

Of the many flowers that bask 
On my terrace softly ranging 
Through the color-gamut, changing 

With the seasons, it would task 
My acumen should you wonder, 

My appraisement should you ask 

Which supreme is. I should blunder. 

In my vagueness I should seek 

Amaryllis bird-like singing, 

I should note the flower clinging 
To her hair that sunbeams streak 

With their lesser gold in glory. 
Were it gaudy, were it meek 

That to me would tell the story. 



117 



Were it dainty, blue-celeste, 

Sweet Forget-me-not entreating, 

Tiny petals each repeating 
Tendernesses of days blest ; 

I should say this suits my treasure 
Better far than all the rest, 

And award it victor's measure. 

Were it Marigold aglow 

With flamboyant colors flying, 
With the burning tresses vying. 

Making most dramatic show. 
Forcing even sceptic credence ; 

Surely, surely I should know 

Which of all should take precedence. 



ii8 



CONSECRATED FLOWERS 

I HEAR the blast of winter's latest breath 
Congealing nascent greens and sweetest vernal flowers, 
Sweetest since earliest, yet doomed to frosty death 
With crescent human hopes that pant for bounteous 

bowers 
Of June, offspring of May and fickle April's showers, 
Cheering the heart depressed by long hibernal hours. 

And while with restless gait I pace the room 
Or count my steps in hall that meets the lofty eaves. 
And pass another door to break the lowering gloom, 
Behold, 't is broken ! For the fragrance sweet of 

leaves 
And flowers that thou hast worn and sanctified, reprieves^ 
My chafing, morbid mood, and incense back receives. 



X19 



A CONTRAST 

If by the strength 
And the song's length 
Is gauged the force of voiced felicity; 
Then must in shrillest, merriest ecstasy 
The cheerful cricket ding 
His triumph, who doth sing 
From flushing star of dawn to star of silver light. 
From dew-drops of the morn to drops of dew at night. 
But if with notes of joy my verse 

Sometimes doth ring. 
My heavy heart-throbs quick the joy disperse. 



I20 



IN AUTUMN 

Placid the autumnal stream, 
Placid they who dare not dream 
Dreams of incandescent sheen. 
They the losers, too, I ween. 

HEREAFTER 

Not hallelujahs loud nor frenzied hymns, 
But mere repose of soul and change of view. 

A THOUGHT 

I DREAMED of far-ofF, wall-girt, Tuscan towns. 
Their tapering trees, and vaporous olives dear. 
Whilst scanning Massachusetts* pine-flecked downs ; 
Nor could I say which seemed to me most near. 



121 



MICHELANGELO 

Buonarroti ! high as eagles, that patrol 
The sky, their pinioned kind do dominate, 
So thou o'ertowerest all men of thy kindred state. 
Not that thy hand with greater cunning wrought ; 
Not that thou sternly worest the crowns by thee un- 
sought ; 
But for thy godlike soul, 
Which crushes all with its preponderating weight ! 



122 



TO A LANDSCAPE 

Not now the thundrous cloud, nor strenuous gale 

That makes trees cringe, and show the silver side 

Of tossing leaves. Oh, not to-day the deep 

Effects of masses rich 'gainst sunset skies. 

Nor sensuous hues, nor freakish outhne wild I 

But give me Peace — a pleasant sunny stretch 

Of landscape sweet in daisied June, all steeped 

In equal whitish light ; the bosky hills 

Flecked here and there with faint blue shades where 

axe 
Has hewn its way ; the nearer slopes well tilled. 
Sweeping in gracious curves to meet the brook. 
Not seen, but margined by the vaporous row 
Of willows thick ; and cropping through the grass. 



123 



Red-ripe, the uninvited flowers — though to 
The poet meet — not gorgeous, but bedight 
With frescoed tints, palish, yet adding glow 
To torpid, basking fields. From time to time 
(Alas how pitifully rare !) unvexed, 
Unharassed hours, stress free as unbent grain. 
Serene as sloping meads in sunlit June, 
Are foisted into agitated Life. 



124 



THRENODY 

I 

Like demi-god, who wore the shaggy spoils 

Of sovereign beast, I Ve closed with sinewy Death, 

And once have worsted him, saving a heart 

Beloved, too young to go. But vanquished now 

And broken, impulseless, and without bent, 

I yield a cherished life to stronger Fate. 

II 

FiRM-anchored by its grappling, burrowing roots. 
Upon a hill-slope lush with summer's lymph — 
That tones its varied hues to shifting skies 
Without ajar to eye — there grew a fair 
Proportioned tree, thick-fronded, highly prized ; 
For it had long companioned many moods. 



125 



One murky day a bolt sinister struck 

Its comely form, and rived with gashes deep 

The accumulated, palpitating growth 

Of years — and I, a helpless witness, gazed. 

Recuperative nature has long since 

Adorned with alien gauds the soil where trunk 

Had clung to it, and veiled the transient sight 

Of wounded limbs with memory's vision of 

Its sturdier days. The unobstructed view 

Reveals a range of heavenly blue with flecks 

Of sun-flashed green — like plaques of Persian craft 

'Gainst massive cumuli of shining clouds 

With azure rifts, whence shoot the quivering rays. 



126 



Ill 

Let me not bear in mind the sombre close 

Of thy frail life, the saint-like fortitude 

Of thy poor harrowed soul ! Let me forget 

The stress, the strain, and e'en those calmer states 

When thou didst lie like effigy supine 

On fretted marble, canopied beneath 

The angel-crowned arch, whose shadows vague 

Abide in deep-set eyes ! Let me forget 

The scene when thou didst leave us in the gray 

Of early dawn, thine own face grayer far ! 

There hangs upon the wall a radiant head 
Of thee, dear mother, when a dimpled girl ; 
And yet another more mature in years 



127 



But ever sweet. Will not the daily touch 
With lovely traits, serene and sane, efface 
The evanescing lines of bitter days ? 
Will not thy gentle life be Life to me ? 
Will not thy death dispel the gathering shades, 
And ope a splendid view of things beyond ? 



128 



ADIEU 

I CANNOT see the tops of my dear hills, 
The settling mists their crests obliterate. 
And curtain with a veil compassionate 
The sobbing trees, while lowering sadness fills 

My yester-heart of joy. The wailing rills 
Bear on convulsive, turgid waves their freight 
Of sapless dead, and the disconsolate 
Gray wind a mournful harmony instills. 

The glowing heat is spent, the song is sung. 
And these desiccate leaves upon the swollen 

Tide of verse will soon amain be flung 

To ocean's waste. Into the haunts of men. 

The tasks enforced, I hurl my lyre unstrung. 

And when the Spring returns ? — We '11 wait till 
then. 



12i 



SFP 25 1900 



